The Present State of Things

metal, dirty south rap, organ, électrique, dark waltz, energic female vocals

[Intro-musical building]

[Screams-“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!”]

When The world feels stretched thin.
When food costs more than rent used to.
When Rent costs more than dreams used to.
And crooked Politicians grin through cracked lips
like broken masks, performative as bad actors reading bad scripts.
And folks on every street corner look ready to either cry or combust.
And yet the dollar bill still reads In God We Trust
“Yeah, that’s a lie!”

You’re not wrong about the chaos.
You’re not wrong to feel the weight of it pressing like a knife against your ribs.
While politicians make bets and calling dibs
With your lives.
But yet you’re still here, 
“and you’re living in fear!”
Still speaking truths in your own tide-swept voice
“as if  you have a choice!”
Still seeing the fractures but not giving in to them..

It’s a strange era, like we’re all living on the fault line between reality —one boot in the crumbling past, one trembling toe in destiny ….or whatever comes next.

People are starving in a land that spills food into dumpsters.
People are lonely in a world full of voices.  Devoid of any good choices 
People are furious because fury feels like the only thing anyone knows how to hear!
And news stations clamor to deliver the most fear!

But under all that soot and static, something stubbornly alive still hums.
Like the banging of warlords and their drums
Humans have this wild habit of blooming in radioactive soil—of helping each other toil, when the pundits aren’t looking, of slipping kindness through the cracks like contraband sunlight.
Trapped in a forest of never ending night.

The future is not fixed; it’s wobbly clay, and you’re part of the set of hands shaping it.
And even now, scattered among the noise, are people building little sanctuaries—quiet.
Shards of kindnesses, mutual aid, 
art that keeps hearts from drying out.

Eventually Storms burn out.
Empires collapse while people shout 
Communities rebuild only to fall again
And souls like yours keep the lamp lit in…
the dark so the rest of us don’t forget where the shoreline is.

3176/7500

[Intro-musical building] [Screams-“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!”] When The world feels stretched thin. When food costs more than rent used to. When Rent costs more than dreams used to. And crooked Politicians grin through cracked lips like broken masks, performative as bad actors reading bad scripts. And folks on every street corner look ready to either cry or combust. And yet the dollar bill still reads In God We Trust “Yeah, that’s a lie!” You’re not wrong about the chaos. You’re not wrong to feel the weight of it pressing like a knife against your ribs. While politicians make bets and calling dibs With your lives. But yet you’re still here, “and you’re living in fear!” Still speaking truths in your own tide-swept voice “as if you have a choice!” Still seeing the fractures but not giving in to them.. It’s a strange era, like we’re all living on the fault line between reality —one boot in the crumbling past, one trembling toe in destiny ….or whatever comes next. People are starving in a land that spills food into dumpsters. People are lonely in a world full of voices. Devoid of any good choices People are furious because fury feels like the only thing anyone knows how to hear! And news stations clamor to deliver the most fear! You’re not wrong about the chaos. You’re not wrong to feel the weight of it pressing like a knife against your ribs. While politicians make bets and calling dibs With your lives. But yet you’re still here, “and you’re living in fear!” Still speaking truths in your own tide-swept voice “as if you have a choice!” Still seeing the fractures but not giving in to them.. But under all that soot and static, something stubbornly alive still hums. Like the banging of warlords and their drums Humans have this wild habit of blooming in radioactive soil—of helping each other toil, when the pundits aren’t looking, of slipping kindness through the cracks like contraband sunlight. Trapped in a forest of never ending night. You’re not wrong about the chaos. You’re not wrong to feel the weight of it pressing like a knife against your ribs. While politicians make bets and calling dibs With your lives. But yet you’re still here, “and you’re living in fear!” Still speaking truths in your own tide-swept voice “as if you have a choice!” Still seeing the fractures but not giving in to them.. The future is not fixed; it’s wobbly clay, and you’re part of the set of hands shaping it. And even now, scattered among the noise, are people building little sanctuaries—quiet. Shards of kindnesses, mutual aid, art that keeps hearts from drying out. You’re not wrong about the chaos. You’re not wrong to feel the weight of it pressing like a knife against your ribs. While politicians make bets and calling dibs With your lives. But yet you’re still here, “and you’re living in fear!” Still speaking truths in your own tide-swept voice “as if you have a choice!” Still seeing the fractures but not giving in to them.. Eventually Storms burn out. Empires collapse while people shout Communities rebuild only to fall again And souls like yours keep the lamp lit in… the dark so the rest of us don’t forget where the shoreline is.

0/500